


Hitchhiking and Other Dangerous Sports

by emk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But deep down is sweet, Derek is a sourwolf, F/M, Gen, Hitchhiking, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia takes care of Stiles a lot, New York to California, OFC and Derek are connected, OFC has issues, OFC is a runaway, POV Female Character, POV Original Female Character, POV Stiles, Perhaps some slow burn between them?, Post Season 5, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Runaway, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Stiles Feels, Stiles POV, Stiles Takes Care Of The Pack, Stiles and Malia are basically just fuck buddies, Stiles and OFC Friendship, Stiles and Scott are super goofy and cute, Stiles is Not a Virgin, Stiles is haunted by what he did as the Nogitsune, Stiles-centric, Swearing, and also best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emk/pseuds/emk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is haunted by his past.</p><p>Althea has nowhere left to run.</p><p>The tale of a rickety blue Jeep, a thumb stuck up, and two slightly lost souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I'm publishing. I love Stiles as a character, and find him really relatable, so I wanted to write something for him, and for me.  
> I'm not completely set on the name Althea- suggestions are welcome, as long as they're badass.  
> Heads up, this story will have swearing and probably some mildly inappropriate content. I haven't got the entire story plotted out yet, but Archive Warnings will be updated accordingly.  
> Each chapter will be half POV of Althea, half POV of Stiles. I can't promise that chapters will be super long.  
> This story takes place after season 3, before season 4.  
> If you read, please, please, please, leave any constructive criticism or thoughts in the comments- I really appreciate it!  
> Enjoy!

_lonely_

_adjective;_

_affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome._

 

She waits on the side of the road. The wet pavement glistens.  The sky weeps a soft, gloomy drizzle.

alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealone

She fades with the shadows of the forest as the sky grows dim with nightfall.

The few cars that pass by don’t notice her- or maybe they do, and just don’t care.

She begins to shiver as the cold of twilight seeps into her skinbloodbones.

She needs to get out of here.

The rumble of a car sounds, getting nearer.

She steps to the edge of the road, hitches her heavy rucksack farther up her back, sticks out her thumb.

Every time she does this, she says a prayer (to whatever god or deity or whatever is listening) that the driver who picks her up won’t be a creep or a murderer.  

There are a lot of creeps out there.

She spots the car coming around the corner now.

A broken down, rusty old blue Jeep.

She thinks about putting her thumb down, and blending in with the dark of night in wait for the next car, one that’s less creepy.  Or even just walking.

It’s too cold though.

Her thumb stays up.

 

The car’s headlights hit her, and she puts a hand in front of her eyes to avoid being blinded by the harsh brightness.

The driver slows down.

It’s a teenage boy.  

She’ll take her chances.

He’s skinny enough, and she’s pretty sure she could take him.

 

“Hey, where ya going?”

“Beacon Hills.”

“That’s where I’m headed.  Hop in.”

 

She hesitantly slides into the cracked leather of the seat. The car smells like Old Spice and the reassuring scent of boy.

The boy glances at her, and she can feel his gaze burn into her.

He suddenly cranks up the heat, and she realizes she’s been shivering from the chilly air.

 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.  So, why are you going to Beacon Hills?”

She bites her lip, unsure whether she should tell the truth.

The jury is still out on whether he’s a creep.  Or murderer.

Fuck it.

 

“Honestly? I’m trying to get as far away as possible from home.”

“Oh.  Where’s home?”

“New York.  I got tired of never sleeping.”

He looks at her strangely for a second.

“It’s the city that never sleeps, or hadn’t you heard.”

“Oh. Right.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“So, how do you like California so far?”  He doesn’t seem to believe in silences.

To be honest, she’s sorta missed having a normal conversation with a seemingly normal person.

“It’s okay.  I miss New York pizza.  And bagels.  And basically all other foods.  California is very… organic.”

“Have you tried In N’ Out though?”

“No.”

“Oh my god.  You have to.”

“I guess I will.”

 

The lull in the conversation once again only lasts a minute or so.

“So, how old are you?”

“17. You?”

“Same.  Did you come here with your family?  Beacon Hills is... Well, it must be very different from New York City.”

 

She shoots him a look (why does he think it’s his business?), before remembering that he’s doing her a favor.

She doesn’t want him to think she’s alone.  He’d probably be more likely to murder her or something if he thought no one would care.

 

“No, the ‘rents are back East.  I’m staying with a cousin.”  Hopefully.

She hasn’t felt so alone in a while.  Painfully alone.

“How’d you get here if you don’t have a car?”

Jeez, this guy asks a ton of questions.

“Am I being nosy?  Sorry, I get really curious and then start to basically interrogate people-”

“Hitchhiked.  Caught a few buses and trains.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

 

This time he seems to pick up on the fact that she’s not interested in opening up to him, and the conversation is dead until they reach a suburban area.

“Where should I drop you off?”

“I’m staying at these apartments on the edge of town?  The Park Central?”

All she had were the building name, the cousin’s name, and a few family photos to help her figure out where she was going.

 

“Oh yeah, I know a guy who lives there.”

As they near the apartments, he asks another question:

“Are you gonna enroll at Beacon High?”

“Uh.  I haven’t thought that far ahead.  I probably would need to get a job first.”

“Hey, my dad is actually looking for a desk receptionist right now!”

 

At her confused look, he clarifies, “My dad’s the sheriff.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know…”

“It’s pretty good money.  At least talk to my dad about it.”

“Okay, I guess.  Thanks.”

 

Hesitantly, she unbuckles her seatbelt and puts a hand on the door.

 

“How do I contact him?”

“Oh yeah!  Give me your number and I’ll set it up.”

Luckily her cell phone hadn’t been canceled.  Yet.

“What’s your name?”

“Stiles.  Stiles Stilinski. And you?”

She gives him a strange look.

“Althea.  Althea Rivers.”

  


_curious_

_adjective_

_eager to know or learn something._

 

For the entire 10 minute car ride back to his house, Stiles drives on autopilot, and loses himself in thought.

Althea Rivers.

Her name echoes in his mind.

His car still carries a vestige of her scent- a mix of rosemary and something smokier.

 

There’s nothing Stiles loves more than a mystery.  Especially a mystery that isn’t life threatening.

 

Althea Rivers, although definitely peculiar, didn’t seem like a murderer.

 

Stiles parks his car and slams his door with huge force accidentally, causing one of the side mirrors to crack. 

Shit.  He needs a new car.  

He loves his Jeep.

 

Stumbling into his kitchen, he finds one Sheriff Stilinski at the small wooden table, surrounded by a mountain of files, snoring away. 

Shaking his head with a fond smile, Stiles rouses his father and orders him to go to bed.

“They work you too hard at that station, dad.  You need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“If anything, Stiles, I’m the one working them too hard.  I’m the boss, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, go to bed, old man.  Hope you’ve been laying off the curly fries.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.  You better get some sleep too.  It might be summer, but you’re still human.”

“I know.  Believe me, I know.”

 

Werewolf.  Banshee.  Hunter.  Werecoyote.  Kitsune.  Kanema.  Chimera.

Human.

 

It wasn’t that he resented the pack or anything.  He really didn’t.  In the end, he was happy to be indefinitely normal.  To be a watcher, not a player (yes, that was a Nerve reference- Stiles had to admit, the movie was definitely nerve wracking).  

And anyway, Stiles was smart.  Stiles was going to be a cop, or a detective, or someone who could help people.  He had a lot of hurt to make up for.

 

And he had a pack- a whole bunch of family who he loved, and honestly, what more could he ask for?

 

Althea Rivers hadn’t seemed like she had a whole lot of family who she loved.  

He was pretty sure she was a runaway- not that it was a bad thing.  He was pretty sure runaways usually had a pretty good reason for doing so.

New York to California?  NYC to Beacon Hills?  Probably not just for fun.

But Stiles had learned pretty well not to make assumptions about people.

He just hoped he would be able to find out more about her.

His phone buzzed suddenly, startling him out of his daydream.

 

**Hey man u down for pizza**

 

Scott was always looking for food.

 

**Yah sure bro u wanna come over**

 

**Sounds good be there soon**

 

Stiles snorts at the terrible grammar that he and Scott both employed when texting.  It was almost 11pm (why was she hitchhiking so late?) but Stiles shares Scott’s love for pizza (what was so much better about New York pizza?  Or bagels?).  

Grabbing his phone off the counter, he scrolls through his Instagram feed, liking all the pictures posted by Pack members and Kylie Jenner.

 

He had bought Lydia the Kylie Lipkit (honestly he was still in shock that it was 30 bucks for one lipstick thing) in like Mary Jane and Kristy or something like that.  Needless to say, she had squealed with joy, and had immediately begun studying the formula and making improvements on it.

He had followed Kylie on Instagram and despite being mildly put off by the way she used her power as a horrible role model to youngsters, he kinda had a crush on her.

His phone buzzes again as his front door opens, this time a Snapchat from Scott.

“Hey man, I just got your snap.”

The picture shows Scott holding two boxes of pizza with a silly grin on his face.

Stiles looks up to see basically the exact same image in front of him.

“Pizzaaaaaaa!”

Obviously Scott is very excited.

“Keep it down a little, bro, my dad’s asleep.”

“Oh, shit, sorry Sheriff Stilinski!”  Even louder.

A muffled yell sounds from his dad’s bedroom.

“That’s alright, Scott.  Enjoy your pizza.”

 

Scott thumps the boxes down on the coffee table, grabs two sodas out of the fridge, and flops down on the couch next to Stiles.

“Bro, it’s been way too long since we had one of these nights.”

“Agreed.”

The pizza is delicious, in Stiles opinion.

 

“Something weird happened to me today, man.”

Scott’s smile slips into a frown, expecting the worst.

“Ah, shit, already?  I thought we might be able to relax for a while-”

“No, no, Scott, nothing supernatural.  I just came across this girl who was hitchhiking a few miles away.  She was a runaway about our age from New York, I think.”

“Wow.  That is pretty weird.  So you picked her up?  Did she flirt with you?”

“Jeez, Scott, is that all you ever think about?  Don’t answer that.  Yes,  I picked her up.  She wanted to be dropped off at Derek’s building.  Said she has a cousin she’s staying with there.”

“Huh.  I wonder if Derek knows her cousin.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.  But he’s so antisocial I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.”

 

They munch on their pizza in thoughtful silence for a few moments.

“What was her name?”

“Althea Rivers.”

“That’s a badass name.”

“I know.”

 

“Bro, have you heard from Kira?”

“No, man.  I guess the Skinwalkers don’t let her use her phone.  It’s driving me crazy.” 

Dejected doesn’t begin to describe Scott.

 

“I’m sorry, man, that’s tough.  Wanna talk?”

“Na, I’m okay right now.  Thanks, Stiles.”

“Anytime, Scotty.  Anytime.”

 

The conversation lightens into more fun topics.

The night continues with more pizza.

More thinking.  About her.

 


	2. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is haunted by his past.
> 
> Althea has nowhere left to run.
> 
> The tale of a rickety blue Jeep, a thumb stuck up, and two slightly lost souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter posted! I had no wifi for the past week but worked on the fic in my sticky notes app and am pretty happy with how it turned out. I also got more than half of the third chapter written, so that might be up quicker than this one. More notes posted at the end will explain a bit more about the stuff that's happening in Beacon Hills.  
> This is a friendfic as of now, but that may change.  
> There is a short interlude during Althea's part of the chapter where it's Derek's thoughts.  
> This fic takes place between season 3 and season 4, so everyone is just recovering from the Nogitsune, and Derek hasn't been taken by Kate Argent yet.  
> I own nothing of Teen Wolf.

_vagabond_

_noun_

_a person who wanders from place to place without a home or job._

_*******************************************************************************************************_

_Althea had always been a wanderer- from her first steps, she was always toddling, stumbling, and doddering away from whoever was watching her.  This, for obvious reasons, led to very stressed out parents._

_Stressed parents liked to yell, Althea discovered.  Loudly._

_Althea hated yelling._

_She just wanted to explore._

 

_As she grew, her number of runaway attempts grew with her, and the reasons behind them started to change.  She still wanted to investigate her surroundings and discover new things.  She just also happened to want to get away from her parents, and this spurred her to leave more often and for longer._

_As she got older, her parents noticed her short disappearances less and less._

_They became entirely absorbed in work, sometimes leaving so early and returning home so late, she wouldn’t see them for a week._

_The few times they did take notice of her they picked on her and generally made her feel like shit._

_Grades, attitude, clothes, weight, make-up- anything they could nitpick._

_They only got physical with her when they were drunk, but it still rooted fear in her.._

 

_But it wasn’t like it was a totally garbage life._

_She had friends._

_Two amazing friends (more like family), Cleo and Wes, to be specific._

_She didn’t mind school (it got her out of the house), and her teachers were kind to her._

_She lived in a pretty nice apartment, with her own room._

_She had saved up money of her own by babysitting and dogwalking._

 

_It was just that an escape from raised voices that were cut through only by pointed silences felt necessary more and more often._

_Until she finally realized a temporary escape wouldn't be enough._

_So she left.  And this time, it was permanent._

_********************************************************************************************************_

Sneaking into the apartment was just as easy as Althea had anticipated.

 

The building didn't have a doorman, only a buzzer system- the kind where you press the button next to the person's name and it calls their apartment for you so they can buzz you in.

She had long ago mastered the art of sneaking into apartment buildings and to the top floor, where she would hang out for a few hours with a book until she felt okay about going home.

This would just take a little patience.

 

Althea finds the correct apartment number, waits until she spots a woman of about 30 years walking towards the doors from outside, and pretends to fumble in her bag for her keys. A late night straggler, who was working the evening shift or going out with friends.

"Hello, honey.  Can't find your keys?"

"I seem to have forgotten them.  Again."

The woman pulls out her own keys. "You're in luck, then."

With a sheepish laugh, Althea holds the door for the woman, and follows her.

 

Althea's confident stride masks any nerves that are flip flopping inside her belly.

 

"Thanks so much, Ma'am."

"Oh, it's no problem, dear.  If you ever forget those keys again, just buzz me and I'll let you in.  I'm 4C."

"Wow, thank you.  I'll see you around."

The elevators doors open to 4, and the woman steps out and waves an elegant hand at Althea.  Althea catches a whiff of jasmine, reminding her forcefully of her own mother, and she feels a wave of affection for the woman.

 

13A.  

 

Althea's knock on the huge metal doors reverberates through her entire body.

She hopes he's awake.

The door slowly rolls open.

Althea's palms sweat.

 

Derek is certainly not the young, overly confident teenager he was when they last met.  But it's definitely him.

A small flicker of recognition lights in his eyes, but burns out quickly.

"Who are you?"

"Don't you remember me?"

His blank look remains in place.

"I was about 7 years old.  You came to visit me in New York for a while.  I suppose not recognizing me is understandable."

A fog clears from his face, and for a moment he looks almost happy.

"Al-Althea?"

"Right-o."

"What the hell are you doing here?  Where are your parents?"

"Well, it's kinda a long story...You got a minute?"

 

She fears her facade of confidence is quickly crumbling- she doesn't know Derek very well., but she feels a bit as though he's looking into her soul with piercing eyes, and he doesn't like what he sees.

She doesn't know what she'll do if he sends her away.

 

**Derek:**

He opens the door wide enough to let her in, lifting the oversized rucksack off her back as she passes by to set it down on the couch for her.

"You want coffee or anything?"

Hesitance is laced through his tone- the new situation is hardly a simple one.

 

The sweet, funniness of the little girl who he used to babysit years ago has disappeared, and been replaced by a certain hardness.  Although Althea's face is definitely an echo of his little cousin's, her eyes are guarded now, her jaw set as though she is already preparing herself for an argument.  Not to mention the septum ring that pierces the middle of her nose.

 

She has definitely grown up.  

She reminds him of himself.  After Paige.

 

"Coffee would be great."

_  
_ **Back to Althea:**

"So, you know how I used to run away occasionally?"

Althea takes tiny sips of her milky coffee.  Derek snorts.

"I think it was more than occasionally, Althea."

"Whatever.  Well, I... I never exactly grew out of that.  I don't think New York was right for me.  And my parents are always at work, and when they're not at work they're yelling at each other or me.  Or drinking, and that never ends well for me.  And frankly, all of that was really fucking my head in.  So, I left."

"You left."

"I left."

"And I assume your parents didn't know you were leaving."

"They might not have."

 

A mix of emotions swirl across Derek's face- sympathy, anger (At who? Her or her parents?), disappointment, etc.

 

"Althea, you realize what position this puts me in."

"Go ahead, call them, Derek.  They can't force me to go back with them."

 

Bluff.  They totally can.

 

"Yes, they can.  They're your parents.  They can do whatever."

"But if you were to call them, and say I'm safe with you, and that I'm allowed to stay with you, they'd completely forget about me!  I know that it's asking a lot, Derek.  I do not take this lightly.  And I'm sorry to spring this on you.  But I have spent 17 years with them, and I have had enough.  And I will keep running until I find somewhere.  I'll be legal in less than a year.  At least think about it.  Please."

 

She hasn't been so vulnerable to someone new in years, and she's breathing hard.

 

"I'll think about it. You can stay here for tonight.  I have a spare room.  We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

 

A huge, gusty sigh of relief heaves out of Althea's chest.

 

"Thank you, Derek.  Thank you."

 

As she turns away to pretend to examine her surroundings, he pretends not to notice the tears that well up in her eyes and leak slowly past her cheek.

He wouldn't want anyone to point them out, either.

5 minutes later, Derek has left her to settle into the guest bedroom.  It’s fairly spacious- the bed is a full, covered by a heavy white comforter that reminds her of a cloud.  The wooden dresser looks old, the wood cracked and stained in some places.  She thinks it must have survived the fire, unless Derek is into antique shopping.  The closet is empty but large.  She’s pretty sure it’s too soon to unpack her bags completely, but she does take out her computer and chargers and books, and place them on the small desk.

10 minutes later, Althea's lying on her first real bed in days.

Muscles sore from sleeping on benches and occasionally grassy ground, and especially from lugging a 60 pound backpack everywhere, she relaxes into the comfort of a mattress and pillow.  Her favorite t-shirt, softened with wear, makes her feel like she’s back in her own bed.  But better.

Hitchhiking means packing light.  

Althea has never been good at packing light and she ended up having to bring an oversized purse as well.

 

Her computer alone takes up 10 pounds.

She stuffed in as much of her wardrobe as possible.

She had only brought a few hard copies of her books (her bookshelf at home is full of novels and autobiographies and every other type of book, all of them well-worn)- the rest she had downloaded onto her Kindle.

Althea allows herself to relax.

She trusts Derek, even if she hasn't seen him in years.

He's family.  And not the kind of family who will hurt her.

She had to believe he'll let her stay.  Or else she'll be relegated back to fitful rest on park benches, and never a full night's sleep, and traveling with strangers.

And she doesn't want to live like that.

 

_amiable_

_adjective_

_having or displaying a friendly and pleasant manner._

 

Stiles hesitates, types out the message rapidly, and hits send before he can change his mind.

**Hey Althea this is Stiles ur driver from the other night:) Just texting to lyk that the job in my dad's office is still open if u want it.  hmu for the details.  did u find ur cousin?**

He throws himself down onto the couch, opens his laptop, and pulls up an episode of _The 100_.

He just started a week ago when he finished _Game of Thrones_ , and frankly, he's obsessed.  He's already almost done with season 1.

Stiles tries to focus on the show, but his thoughts keep roaming back to Althea.

It's been 2 days since he dropped her off- long enough for her to have settled in and stuff, he thinks.

Stiles sighs and pauses his show.

He pads into the kitchen and searches the cupboards for a snack.

Empty.

He checks the fridge.

Entirely empty.

Time to do the shopping.  His dad always tries to sneak junk food home when he shops, so the job is left to Stiles.  Anyway, his dad has been really busy at the station lately.  

Stiles can't help but think that this has something to do with the Nogitsune.  With him, and what he did.

He remembers every minute of it.

He doesn't bother changing out of his grey fitted sweats, or his worn maroon t-shirt, just grabs his phone and keys, tugs on his sneakers, and hops in his beloved Jeep.

He drives the 10 minutes to the grocery store and starts searching for the things he's put on his mental list.

Extra crunchy Raisin Bran.

1% milk.

A bag of red apples.

Bell pepper.

Broccoli.

A rotisserie chicken.

Frozen hamburger.

Mozzarella.

Wraps.

Raspberries.

Tortilla chips and salsa.

A couple boxes of Annie's Mac&Cheese.

Some frozen dinners (healthy ones) for when his dad is home alone.

Chocolate chip cookies as a reward for when his dad is eating healthy.

Stiles scrunches his face up trying to remember the other shit on his list.

"Stiles."

Stiles' eyes spring open in surprise and he fumbles the bag of cookies.

"Derek!  Jesus, you scared the shit out of me."

"Well, maybe if you were more aware of your surroundings, you wouldn't be so prone to shock."

Stiles has kinda missed their bickering.  Derek has become something of a recluse (is it Stiles' fault?), and Stiles hasn't seem him in a while.

"Whatever, sourwolf.  What're you doing here?"

Derek looks at him with contempt.

"I'm grocery shopping, Stiles.  I do eat."

"Oh, yeah."

A moment passes where they roll their carts down the aisle in silence before Stiles remembers.

"Hey, Derek, do you know anyone who lives in your building who's got a cousin named Althea?  Althea Rivers?"

Derek's cart pauses momentarily behind Stiles before picking up speed again.

"Why?"

"Well, I picked up this girl who was hitchhiking from New York a few miles out of town the other night and she asked me to drop her off at your building.  Said she was staying there with her cousin.  I think she was a runaway."

"She is a runaway."

"She is?  Wait.  You do know her?  Who's her cousin?"

"I am."

Stiles is flabbergasted.

Honestly, at this point, he shouldn't be surprised by any weirdass turn of events.  But for some reason he just didn't expect this at all.

"You're shitting me."

"No, I am not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You definitely are!"

"Stiles, shut up or I'll murder you.  Jesus."

"She's your cousin!"

"Yes."

Derek is quickly becoming exasperated with Stiles' denial.

"But she was so much nicer than you! A little cold, maybe, but I'm a stranger to her and she's already a better friend than you are! Does she know about everything?"

"No."

Derek rolls his cart to the cash register.

"Wait, Derek!  I still have to get stuff.  I need goldfish and cold cuts and bread!  Wait for me!"

"Bye, Stiles."

Derek pays and grabs his bags.

"Is she staying with you permanently? Is she going to Beacon High?"

Stiles is yelling across the store now, but Derek doesn't turn around, or give any sign that he heard.

Stiles resolves to text Derek until he gives in, and if that fails, to venture over to Derek's apartment.

He continues his shopping, grinning to himself.

This mystery just keeps getting better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, Derek has kinda excluded himself from the Pack. Allison is still going to be dead even though I love her. Her death plays a really important role in how Stiles feels about himself, and I couldn't cut it out. At this point, I'm not sure about who exactly is going to be included in the Pack. I think I'm going to bring Isaac back, but not sure.
> 
> Enjoy and comment!  
> fun fact bout moi:  
> I'm from New York (Althea's character isn't based on me though)


	3. Persistence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much happening in this chapter, just some bonding between stiles and althea. kinda a filler. Next one will be posted sooner rather than later. comment any thoughts please!

_ amiable _

_ adjective _

_ having or displaying a friendly and pleasant manner. _

 

Stiles sends another text to Derek.

He is perfectly aware that Derek thinks he's amazingly annoying, and he doesn't care.

Stiles is also certain that he's occasionally seen a spark of affection in Derek's eyes.  And sometimes a frown of disapproval (jealousy?) when he kisses Malia in public.

It's not like Stiles is straight as a ruler, exactly.  

And he is definitely conscious of how fucking hot Derek is.

And he's also not looking for another relationship.  Malia and him- well, their relationship is weird, but he still has feelings for her.  

And also the sex is really good.

 

Anyway, it's been an hour or so since he got home and put the groceries away, and he's texting Derek to inquire more about Althea Rivers, and he is not receiving a reply.

He hates when people don't reply.  

And it's not like this is a life or death matter or anything, but he's curious as fuck.

He calls Derek.  No answer.  That wolf will be the death of him.

He tries to relax and watch an episode of The 100, but again, his thoughts about the hitchhiking girl refuse to fade away, banging around noisily in his skull.

 

Ugh.

 

He rolls out of bed, throws his favorite jeans on, a t-shirt, a flannel (which definitely needs to be washed), and his sneakers.

 

Derek is going to kill me, he thinks, rolling his eyes in exasperation about what's about to happen.

 

He drives over to the building, parks outside, sits in the car, thinks about whether Derek might actually murder him this time.

 

Nahhh.

 

He hops out of the car, waits for someone to walk out of the apartment and hold the door for him (he knows at least that Derek would never buzz him in).

Rides the elevator up to the thirteenth floor.

Knocks on the door.

A minute later, he hears a huff of breath as someone puts a lot of effort into pushing the door open.

It doesn't take Derek this much work to open the door.

Stiles wraps his own fingers around the edge of the metal and pulls.

As the door slides into place, he stands face to face with her.

He hadn't realized how short she was the other night.

 

"Um.  Heeeey, Althea."

 

She keeps her face blank.  It reminds him of Derek.

 

"Hi, Stiles.  Why are you here?"

"I was actually looking for Derek."

"Oh.  He's out.  Why?"

"I was actually gonna ask him about you."

"What?  Why?"

"Well, I have a lot of questions.  There aren't many hitchhikers or runaways in Beacon Hills."

 

Althea's face turns from blank to cold.  

 

"You told your cop dad about me?"

 

"What?  No!  If you ran away you probably have a good reason.  I'm not stupid.  I'm just curious."

 

She considers this for a moment, before her face relaxes into warmth.

 

"Maybe you're both."

 

She turns and walks into the apartment.  She doesn't kick Stiles out, so he considers it a welcome.  He pulls the door shut behind him.

"Want coffee?  I just made a fresh pot."

"Uh. sure."

She strides into the kitchen.  Stiles checks her out before following.

She has a nice butt.  Big.

 

Stiles grabs two mugs from the cupboard where he knows Derek keeps them and sets them next to the coffee pot for her.

She pours the coffee in and pours milk in one.

 

"What do you want in yours?"

"Milk and a sugar."

 

She makes a grossed out face, hands him the milk jug and sugar jar and carries her mug to the small kitchen table.

 

"Why the face?"

"Sugar in coffee.  It ruins it.  I'd drink mine black if it didn't stain teeth so easy."

 

Stiles shudders at the thought of bitter black coffee.

This girl is obviously hardcore.

 

"You're crazy.  Black coffee is nasty."

 

She sticks her tongue out at him as they sit down.  They sip their coffee in silence for a minute or two.

 

"So, questions?"

"Derek is your cousin.  But you're not a Hale?"

"My mom is his aunt by blood.  His father's sister."

"Were your families close?  Before?"

"Before the fire?  Not really.  I'd met them all a couple times, but my mom kinda estranged herself from them because they were weird.  Her words, not mine.  Derek was staying with us in New York right before it happened, actually.  He was the only Hale I ever spent more than a few hours with."

"Woah."

"Yeah."

 

More silence as Stiles mulls the new information over.  This time the quiet is interrupted by the rumbling of the door rolling open.

 

"Althea?  I thought I told you to lock the door."

"In here, Derek!"

 

Derek's light footfalls into the kitchen are accompanied by the rustling of grocery bags, which he sets down on the kitchen floor.

 

"Stiles, what are you doing in my house?  Did I invite you over and mysteriously forget, or are you just being as annoying as usual?"

"Probably the latter.  Look, I was just gonna come ask you more about your guest here, but I ran into her first.  And since she's so much nicer than you, she actually gave me coffee and answered my questions."

 

Althea smirks at the flattery, and pulls a chair out for Derek.

 

"Wanna join us, cuz?  We were just going over some family history."

"I'm gonna put these groceries away and then kick Stiles out."

 

Althea laughs at her cousin's grumpy antics, one of those laughs that makes everyone around want to join in.  Stiles can't help but wonder again what could possibly have made this girl need to run away, but he's pretty sure that if he asks, her face will turn stony and the only answer will be silence.

Derek begins storing the food in the proper places, so Stiles takes a sip of coffee and brings Althea's attention back to his questions.

 

"So, have you thought about the job with my dad?"

 

Althea glances at Derek, before whispering to Stiles.

"First I need to solidify some stuff.  As in whether Derek will let me stay here or send me back to New York."

"It's not about my decision, Althea, so much as what your parents have to stay.  And raising a kid wasn't exactly in my plans."

 

Althea looks slightly taken aback- Stiles had hardly been able to hear her, so she probably thought no way Derek could (little does she know of Derek's enhanced hearing).  Within a second she's recovered from her surprise and is retorting fiercely.

 

"I'm hardly a kid, and you know that.  Before long, I'll be 18 and out of your hair, Derek.  And you know what our deal is."

Derek grumbles something about coercsion before turning back to his chore.

 

"Anyway, if you want it as a temporary job, my dad is desperate for someone who is willing to do filing.  And it's not a bad thing to put on a resume.  He won't ask questions, if that's what you're worried about.  You'd be Derek Hale's cousin, visiting for a while, not Derek Hale's cousin the runaway."

 

Althea chuckles at his bluntness, and agrees to talk to the sheriff.

 

"Now, I have a question for you, Mr. Stilinski."

"What is it?"

"Is Stiles your real name?"

"Just a nickname in place of a horrible first name that is completely impossible to pronounce."

"I see."

 

Derek soon enough cuts off the playful conversation which follows and pushes Stiles to the door, whispering to him at the door so Althea can't hear:

"I don't want her to find out about me, okay?  Or any of us."

"I wouldn't count on it.  Secrets don't stay secret in this town, especially when you're living in the same apartment as one."

At Derek's glare, Stiles quickly continues.

"Okay, okay, she won't find out from me, Derek.  Jeez.  I don't wanna make her life any harder than it already is."

Derek propels him out the door, so Stiles quickly whispers over his shoulder:

"Pack meeting later tonight if you wanna make an appearance.  Scott's house at 8.  Won't be any wolfy business so bring Althea if you want."

Derek rolls his eyes, but nods.

"Also bring beer!"

Derek slams the door shut.

 

Althea's voice sounds behind him.

"Beer?  Can I have some?"

She smiles innocently at him.

"Will there be vodka?"

 

Derek sighs and bangs his head against the wall.

  
  


_ insecure _

_ adjective _

_ (of a person) not confident or assured; uncertain and anxious. _

  
  


Althea was in a sunny mood, and she didn’t think anything could bring her down.

The apartment was dark and metal and very bachelor pad-esque, so she had decided to explore the town a bit.

The sun shone down, there was hardly a cloud in the brilliant blue of the sky, and birds were chirping.

A perfect summer's day.  She quickly found a weather-worn park bench, and pulled a tired copy of  _ The Hobbit _ (she’d been rereading the book since seventh grade, and never stopped enjoying it) out of her mini backpack.  She tried to allow herself to fall into the familiar story and forget everything else, but she couldn't be distracted from other thoughts.

Derek was going to talk to her parents.  He had said so.  She had jumped up and hugged him tightly when he said so, his own arms tightening around her hesitantly.

And Stiles' visit hadn't hurt her mood either- in fact, it had been really nice to have company her own age, even for a short while.  And she had heard him mention a pack meeting (Cali slang for party?) and beer and an invitation for her.

 

It was starting to feel like she had people to trust again.  And she didn’t want to form expectations of these people, just to be let down, but it was hard to keep herself from hoping.  And yeah, it had only been a few days, but it was _ so much better _ than New York.

 

Anyway, she hadn't been to a party in a while.

 

She loved pregaming with friends and dressing kinda sexy and loud music and dancing and drinking games and all of it.

She loved getting out of her house most of all, and forgetting about her parents, even if it only lasted until she was sober the next day.

 

She had bugged Derek until he said they could go (although he told her it wasn't a huge party so much as a gathering of friends), and then she got really nervous.

Also, why was Derek hanging out with Stiles and his friends?

When she asked, he had merely stated that it was complicated and receded into his Derek-shell.

 

If this was a small gathering of friends, where would she fit in?  She didn’t want to intrude or anything.

She hesitantly types out a text to Stiles.  

 

**Hey are u sure its not weird for me to come tonight?**

 

She doesn’t want to sound insecure, but she is.

 

Her bright mood has dimmed, but hey, maybe it’s for the best.  A reality check is probably just what she needed.  It’s not like she’s going to become best friends with these people.  

 

She tugs her legs into criss cross applesauce on the bench, and tries to read her book.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact about moi: i have a fake septum ring bc my parents wont let me get it pierced lmao  
> hope you enjoyed!


	4. Nervewracked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii, sorry for late update. School started this week, so updates may be slower. hope you enjoy, please leave comments or kudos<3

_ distraught _

_ adjective _

_ deeply upset and agitated. _

 

Stiles is roused out of his light nap by the buzzing of his phone. 

Blinking drowsy eyes, his stretch lasts a solid 20 seconds.

He rolls over, yawns, grabs his phone off the nightstand, scrolls through all the notifications.

Texts from the pack group chat- apparently he’s missed a heated debate over whether they should have pizza or chinese food at the meeting tonight.

Text from his dad (  **Hi son, have you done anything productive today?  Finishing** **_The 100_ ** **doesn’t count.** )  Stiles rolls his eyes at that one.

Text from Althea.

He saves that one for last.

He replies to all the other messages respectively- chinese food (he had pizza the other day), and no, dad, he thought the point of summer was to do nothing.

Althea’s text isn’t very revealing, but there’s obviously some anxiety behind the words.

 

**Hey yeah its totally cool.  Everyone is really nice and they wanna meet Derek’s mysterious cousin :)  Would u prefer chinese food or pizza for dinner?**

 

He tries to be nonchalant.  But he is a little worried how sitting in a room full of werewolves, a werecoyote, fox spirit and other weird mythical beings isn’t going to catch her notice.

  
  


He sends another text (he doesn’t really get why people are so against double texting, honestly).

 

**And make sure Derek brings alc lol**

 

Stiles decides to go for a run- now that his dad mentioned it, he’s thinking of how unproductive he’s being.

He hates running.

 

He ties the dirty laces on an old pair of running shoes, pulls on ratty clothes that he doesn’t mind sweating in, and starts on his path.

He blasts music from his iPod headphones- it’s the Spotify program where it finds songs that match the pattern of his footsteps, and he doesn’t really know any of the songs (this way he doesn't get distracted and start singing).

 

At the finish of his first mile, he turns around, wipes the sweat off his forehead, and goes right back.

 

2 miles counts as productivity, right?  And it’s not like he needs to lose weight, and he’s aware that he’ll probably never be able to achieve the spectacular abs that most of the pack possess. 

He jogs into his kitchen, sticks his head under the sink and gulps down some cold water.  He straightens up, turns around.  And practically falls to the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Derek.  You need to stop creeping up on me with your wolfy silence.”

 

Derek looks at him.  Blankly (what did Stiles expect, an apology?).

“I’m just here to let you know that if anyone lets anything slip tonight, I will rip your throat out.”

“What?  If someone else says something, you’re going for  _ my  _ jugular?”

“Yes, Stiles.  You invited her.  Now you need to make sure she doesn’t find out.”

Stiles groans in frustration.  

“Derek, she won’t find out.  And if she does, what’s the worst that happens?  I found out, and I’m fine.”

“Stiles, I’ve seen you shirtless.  Your collection of scars is pretty fucking large.  I don’t want that for her.”

“That won- Wait, what?  When have you seen me shirtless?  Like, ever?”

Stiles splutters.

Derek just rolls his eyes and walks towards the door.  

“I don’t want her to find out.  Tell the rest of the pack.”

“Fine.  Jesus.  Next time a text or phone call will be just as effective.  No creeping up on me necessary!”

Stupid sourwolf.

Stiles has to admit, he kinda likes the older guy’s protective side.  And he likes knowing Althea is in good hands.

He quickly texts the pack to keep their wolfiness and shit on the downlow, and hops into a cold shower.

He’s half excited (pack meetings nowadays are really just dinner and movies and getting drunk and now he gets to include Althea in that) and half dreading it (because what if someone lets something slip?).

He tries to relax into the spray of water and forget about his worries.  There’s not much he can do about any of it now.

  
  


That evening, Stiles heads to Lydia's house to pick her up for the pack meeting.

The lanky teenager is starting to really dread tonight.

Not only will Derek kill him if Althea finds out, Stiles doesn't want to be the one responsible for the ruin of any blissful ignorance she possesses (not that he thinks it could possibly last very long living with a werewolf).

He knows from experience how life changing (not to mention life threatening) the knowledge of the supernatural can be.

Regret of inviting her to this thing adds to the remorse that has been burning it's way through his chest for a very long time.

 

The first time Stiles remembers the feeling of guilt was when he and Scott were six year olds, tangled hair and sticky hands.  Scott showed him his prized coin collection, and Stiles snuck a quarter into his pocket when his friend wasn't looking.  

Stiles felt nauseous for about a month.

 

The second time Stiles felt guilt, he was eight years old, all freckles and crooked teeth and skinned knees, and he was hearing his dying mother accuse him of killing her.

There was nothing he could do to fix it that.

 

Allison was not the third time he ever felt guilt, and she wasn't the last time.

 

But she was the worst.

 

And put all together, the quarter (burning his leg through his pocket), his mom (a fire in his brain), Allison (a smoldering arrow through his chest), along with all the others he'd hurt, stabbed at him with a hot poker every time he thought of them (always), until he was riddled with holes, ready to collapse into ashes, to finally be cold.

 

He's not sure how he's still standing.

He can’t breathe.

 

Stiles works to pull himself together.  He's pretty sure he's done a good job so far of hiding his emotions from the pack and their strong noses.  His panic attacks usually come when he's alone at night- they wait until there's no one to hide from before pouncing and smothering him.

He tries to shake the heavy feeling off.  It’s been wearing him down for months now.

 

Now he knows to hold his breath.

 

He heads inside, not bothering to knock.  He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and glugs half of it down before calling out a feeble hello to Lydia.

The short girl strides into the room and takes one look at his face (skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat, eyes wide, jaw set).

She’s seen him panic before.

She knows, but she doesn’t say anything.

He can see it on her face.  

 

Lydia doesn’t pity her friends.

 

But the acute sympathy, the way that she hurts for him, is probably worse.

 

He clears his throat, pastes a weak smile on his face, and asks if she’s ready to meet the new girl.  Lydia wipes the sad look away and replaces it with a grin that is too cheerful to be real.

“I am soooo ready.  I need another girl in this town, who’s not actually half animal.  Not that I don’t love Kira and Malia, but you know what I mean.”

“I know.  I think you’ll be good for her, Lyds.  Althea seems like she needs a reliable friend.”

He’s glad that Lydia didn’t bring up the panic she saw on his face.  He knows he would cry if she did.

Stiles wishes for a moment that his life was normal.  That he wasn’t plagued by panic attacks or supernatural monsters.

There’s no point in complaining though.  You get what you get, and you don’t get upset, right?

He loves the pack.  He just wants to be human, too.

  
  
  


_ overwrought _

_ adjective _

_ in a state of nervous excitement or anxiety. _

 

Sometimes Althea wishes she had superpowers.

Every time she tries to choose what superpower she would pick, she can’t make up her mind.

Flying? Speed? Invisibility? 

It seems to her that the ability to make fast friends is a superpower of its own.

She definitely doesn’t have that one.

 

Althea has never been a social butterfly, exactly.  Her two best friends have been with her since she was young, and she’s never really  _ needed _ to make new friends. It’s not like people don’t like her- it’s just that after she runs out of questions to ask a new person, conversation tends to hit a wall.

 

She doesn’t like talking about herself.  Not really.

 

Cleo and Wes knew without having to be told when something was up- when her dad would rough her up, or her mom shout at her endlessly, they’d be her support system, her lifeline.  

They were the ones who convinced her to leave that night.

She had waited until she could walk without wincing on every step, and then headed to Port Authority to catch the next bus outta town.

Her two best friends anchored her in place for as long as they could.

She wondered how much of a burden she’d been on them.

She doesn’t want to be a burden on anyone, especially Derek.  She keeps out of his way as much as she can, letting him approach her first.

 

And now she’s going to meet a bunch of teenagers who she may or may not be going to school with.  

Tonight basically decides what her social life will be in senior year at a new school.

Derek is putting off calling her parents.

 

She doesn’t think they’ve noticed she’s gone yet.  They haven’t tried to call yet.

Soon enough they’ll catch on, but for now she’s happy to pretend they don’t exist.

  
  


She stares into the full length mirror in Derek’s bathroom.  They’ve been sharing a bathroom, since there’s only one with a shower in the apartment, and it’s a total recipe for disaster.  Someone is bound to walk in on someone else and it will be awkward and terrible and Althea is not happy about it.

Anyway.

She has no idea what the fuck to wear.  

She rolls her eyes at herself in the slightly dirty mirror.  She can never make decisions, even the simplest ones.

 

Deciding she needs another opinion (not Derek, who wears Henleys and jeans  _ always _ ), she snapchats a selfie to Cleo, then changes her outfit and repeats the process. 5 times.

 

Cleo immediately responds (they’ve been texting throughout Althea’s travels) enthusiastically about outfit number 3.

 

High waisted cut-offs (she’d found tiny-waisted, huge-legged grandma jeans in the thrift store by her house in New York and performed surgery on them), an Iron Maiden t-shirt that she’d also found in a thrift store (okay, so she doesn’t really listen to their music, and she’s not usually a pretender, but it’s really fucking cool and vintage), and her Nike Air Force 1’s.  

She adjusts her septum ring in the mirror, puts in some hoops, and heads outside ahead of Derek to have a quick ciggie and listen to Beyonce before they leave.

 

She blazes up and puts her pack and light back in her mini backpack.  She still has some bud in there, and a glass bowl she bought on the street in Soho.

 

She hates being a “cigarette smoker”.  It used to be only when she was drunk, but now it’s also when she’s nervous.  

New Yorkers aren’t fans of smokers- for an urban setting, people are surprisingly aware for the most part; smoking kills.  But teenagers are too curious (and willing to show off) for their own good.

She spritzes herself with perfume and pulls out her earbuds, frowning slightly as she pauses  _ Don’t Hurt Yourself,  _ one of the songs from  _ Lemonade _ that makes her feel powerful- like she could kick in a door or beat someone up- as she spots Derek coming out of the building.

 

“Derek.  Over here.”

It’s not like Althea hasn’t picked up on the fact that Derek has like superhearing, so she barely raises her voice above normal volume even though he’s like 50 feet away.

 

They get into Derek’s car.

“If you’re gonna live with me, you’re gonna have to try and quit, Al.”

“Quit what?” She gives Derek her best doe-eyed innocent look.

“Smoking.  I can smell it on you.”

Althea rolls her eyes again in frustration.

“Whatever.”

“Also, don’t smoke that weed in your bag in town.  Preferably don’t smoke it at all, but tell me before you do, if you’re not going to listen, and I’ll show you some safe spots.  I really don't need you getting arrested.”

 

Althea’s confusion keeps mounting- Derek can also smell the contents of her bag?  Her bud isn’t even that good.

She ignores the feeling, and decides that her mission is to get Derek high.

 

“Here we are. Scott McCall’s house.”

“Right.  And he’s Stiles’ best friend.”

She had forced Derek to give her all the inside information on the group of kids, and he was shockingly good at the job, describing each person's personality in detail, although she got the feeling he was leaving some things out.

 

“Ready to go in?”

“Do you have the alcohol?  If so, yes, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

They get out of the car.  Althea takes a deep breath, and nods.  Derek rings the doorbell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact about moi: I have two cats and consider myself a cat person, but also love dogs  
> hope you enjoyed, lmk by commenting or leaving kudos


	5. Don't Hurt Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is haunted by his past.
> 
> Althea has nowhere left to run.
> 
> The tale of a rickety blue Jeep, a thumb stuck up, and two slightly lost souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys, sorry it's been so long since I've posted for those of u keeping up with the story!  
> This chapter is kinda shitty/really short, so apologies for that as well. I am sorta drowning in homework and college visits. senior year fall is decidedly horrible, and i haven't had tons of time to write which sucks.  
> i will start on the next chapter asap, but no promises as to how soon it will be out.  
> thanks for reading guys!

_ hope _

_ noun _

_ a feeling of trust _

 

It’s been a week since the ‘pack meeting’, and Althea is falling in love.

It’s not what you’re thinking.  Sure, she thought the squad was super cool, and all of them were strangely attractive (she’d tap 100%), but it wasn’t a person that Althea was in love with.

It was life in Beacon Hills.

Althea had always assumed she would hate living in a small town, and she has to admit, the food situation isn’t ideal.  But California does have incredible sushi and tacos. 

Althea can list the things she misses about New York on one hand- Cleo, Wes, bagels, actual pizza, and yeah, that’s basically it.

It’s not that she didn’t love the city itself when she was there.  But now she can feel it- it was poisoning her to be living with such toxic people. 

If she hadn’t gotten out… Well, it wouldn’t be good.

Even now, Althea’s skin breaks into goose bumps at the thought of going back.

Her parents finally noticed her absence. 

Her mom cursed her out for a good 10 minutes over the phone before her dad grabbed the device and whispered threats into the receiver (you little bitch, if you don’t come back…).  Althea hung up.

Althea didn’t have the phone on speaker, but Derek was next to her, and by the look on his face, she knew he had heard.

He told her he wouldn’t send her back there for a million bucks.  She’s never felt so grateful (the feeling swelled in her chest and she smiled until her face hurt).

_ She’d never felt like she was part of a real family before. _

A feeling of safety seems to be commonplace in her now- she leapt out of the frying pan and missed the fire, and the security blooms in her lungs and creeps through her veins- she’s never been stronger.

Her fears of being socially inept proved true- she barely spoke a word for the first half hour that they were there.

But once she had a little liquid courage in her, and she saw Stiles trip over his own feet for the 8 th time, she couldn’t resist commenting:

“Jesus, Stiles, how in hell are you so clumsy?”

There was silence for a minute, Stiles looking half shocked, half sheepish before Scott threw in:

“He was dropped on his head a lot when he was a baby.  Confirmed by Sheriff Stilinski.”

Scott and Althea began to laugh at the klutzy boy who had brought her to them, and the others joined in.  Even Derek cracked a smile (Althea thinks it might have been more at seeing her split her sides laughing then at the joke).

It’s not like she’s best friends with them.  She could tell there had been something they were holding back.

She doesn’t need them to spill their secrets out to her and open their hearts--she isn’t going to do that either.  She just needs someone she can say hi to in the hallway at school and maybe sit with in class.

Maybe hang out with after school once in awhile.

 

She had especially fond memories of Lydia and Malia and Kira.  The girls had made certain that she felt included, and she was sure that this had been orchestrated by Kira, who had been new to Beacon Hills only last year.  The girls had regaled her with multiple hilarious stories of the boys’ stupidity.  

 

Speaking of school. 

Derek had helped her enroll in Beacon High.

Summer ends in two and a half weeks.

Her bruises are fading.

She’s counting down the months until she’s 18.

Until she’s completely free.

She hopes this lasts.

She plugs in her headphones and presses play on Beyonce again. 

_ Lemonade  _ is her shit.

  
  


_ despair _

_ noun _

_ the complete loss or absence of hope _

 

He’s never been graceful, to say the least, so it isn’t surprising when Stiles trips over his own feet, right into the path of a biker.  

“Sorry! Sorry!” He shouts despairingly at the retreating back of the disgruntled man in biker shorts.  

Classic Stiles.  He remembers Althea’s smile at the party last week, and grins to himself.

They had all sensed that Althea’s laughter was more than just at Stiles’ embarrassing lack of coordination: it was her reaction to the normalcy of the whole situation.  

 

The pack had watched as Isaac recovered from his father’s abuse.  And witnessed him hyperventilate still, a year later, whenever he was in a small space.  

They didn’t know exactly what had happened to Althea, but they all wanted to help.  

 

Stiles woke up the morning after the party, squinting as he tried to recall everything that happened the previous night.

He always drank a little too much when there was alcohol at the pack meetings.  He tried not to think about whether that was just teenage stupidity or whether there was a reason behind it, like the memories of being possessed by the-- but no.  He had promised Lydia he would work on forgiving himself.  

But the way the vodka worked to soften and blur the sharp edges of his recall--well, he didn’t hate it.

 

The meeting had been awkward at first, but as the liquor loosened everyone up, Althea had become quick friends with everyone, and especially the girls.  

 

Stiles was looking forward to a having a human friend who didn’t know anything--who treated him like a normal, idiotic adolescent boy, instead of a pathetic murderer without a choice.  

 

No choice.  

He should have,  _ could  _ have, been stronger--

He shakes his head and walks faster towards the park: maybe if he moves fast enough, these thoughts will let go and stop eating away at his fucking blood, bones and soul.  

 

He has no idea about anything anymore--one moment he’s happy, almost, and the next… Well, the guilt isn’t exactly an easy burden to bear.

He deserves every ounce of the weight of it.

 

He turns up the volume on his banged up phone, and sits down on a park bench, damp from an earlier rain.  He opens his sketchbook and starts drawing.

 

Only Scott is even aware at all of the fact that Stiles even has any interest in sketching.  

No one’s ever seen his work.

 

He doesn’t know if he’s any good, but he likes being able to make something by himself.

He mostly just draws the park and everything it contains.  Who knew one place, drawn regularly, would change so much in each rendering?

 

He tried a self-portrait once, but he could never get it quite right, and he didn’t like having to examine all his flaws.

 

Anyway, he draws and he doesn’t tell anyone.  He likes having it to himself.  

He turns up Beyonce’s  _ Lemonade _ .  He cannot get enough of that shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, if you enjoyed or have any sort of advice or anything, leave kudos or a comment--you have no idea how encouraging that stuff is!  
> fun fact about moi:  
> I have been learning French for 7 years, and took Spanish for 4 years before that.  
> see ya next time <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave me all your comments below;)  
> Fun fact about moi: I am a senior in high school  
> Em


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